


Quand l'amour remplacera la haine

by everybodyismoche



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Feels, Bullying, Denial of Feelings, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-04-18 17:49:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4714952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybodyismoche/pseuds/everybodyismoche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How much would you pay to see the headmaster's son kiss the most popular boy in school?<br/>How far will you go to protect your reputation?<br/>Can a simple kiss destroy a human being in less time than it takes to kiss?<br/>And what if your executioner was your best friend, your father, your ex-girlfriend, what would you do?<br/>What would you do?</p><p>~His lips slammed against his to shut him up. He could feel the younger man struggling under his embrace, gripping his hair. And then, suddenly, he was not struggling anymore but kissing back. They kissed until they had not enough breath left to whisper.~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Demons

**Author's Note:**

> « J’aime, et je sais répondre avec indifférence ; j’aime, et rien ne le dit ; j’aime, et seul je le sais : Et mon secret m’est cher, et chère ma souffrance ; et j’ai fait le serment d’aimer sans espérance. » ~Alfred de Musset
> 
> Once I saw that quote, I was inspired to write another fic'. Thanks to my beta, who is simply my greatest supporter:) si tu l'es. Hope you guys will enjoy it! ;)

 

“It was a mistake,” he muttered.

 

His eyes looked successively at the office’s white walls, filled with pictures of a smiling family, a football team, and at the institution’s stone facade with the insignia _Charles Quint College_. On the desk, there was an old picture of his young self in his mother’s arms. Being the son of the student’s president and the worst dunce of the school wasn’t easy, however Neymar had made it his greatest asset. He was in the best fraternity on the campus, had surrounded himself with a popular group of friends and had found a place in the football team as an adulated forward. Yet in the eyes of his father, he had accomplished nothing.

 

“A mistake? Because you think I let you enter in this prestigious university with your shitty results to see you make mistakes?! People like us do not make mistakes, Junior, they are not allowed to!”

 

How many times has he broken his father’s heart? How many times has he heard these words, echoing on the walls. The young student kept his eyes ostensibly directed towards the desk.

 

“LOOK AT ME, JUNIOR!” the president belched and Neymar obeyed, cautiously looking up to meet his stare. He felt something twist in him and he realized it was fear. For the first time since years ago, the young Da Silva Santos was afraid of his namesake. “Look at me,” the old man repeated as anger faded away and sadness appeared in its stead. “I forgave your failures, I forgave your weakness, but I won’t forgive _this_. You buried your future, you’ll never be a great politician, and you’ll never be someone at all. You are dead to me, my son.”  

 

With a flick of his wrist, the student’s president dismissed his son without bothering to say another word. Neymar stood up, pushing back the leather seat, and left the room after bowing once, as an ultimate provocation. It is only when he closed the door behind him that his facade cracked. He felt tears burning his eyes, his throat **chocked**. He suffocated, literally, and his father’s voice continued to haunt him while he went to the Alpha’s home in the pouring rain.

 

 ** _You disappoint me, Junior._** He climbed the stairs at an incredible speed. **_You are not the kid I raised._** He slammed his bedroom’s door. **_You are not worthy of your inheritance._** He hit the wall. **_You’ll never earn someone’s respect._** Again. **_You’ll never be respectable and respected._** And again. **_You’ll never be me._**

 

 

He slammed his fists into the wall until he could no longer feel any pain. Then he laughed. The sweat that ran from his forehead mingled with blood, and the blood mingled with tears. Once he had started crying, he couldn’t stop anymore.

 

~*~*Three weeks earlier*~*~

 

“Are you sure that your house is going to be empty for the week-end?” Someone asked from the back seat of the shiny BMW.

 

Cristiano glared in the rearview mirror, “How many times have I told you that my father is in Berlin for a conference of the headmasters of the best universities in Europe or some shit like that?! We, guys, have the opportunity to make the best party outside of the campus, so why am I the only one happy right now?!”

 

While the three young men piled into the back of the car one after the other, delighted by the news, hooting like they always did before each football match, Neymar continued to admire the landscape through the open window. Maybe he would have joined their cacophony if he wasn’t quietly smoking a joint. His team’s captain and best friend nudged him, abruptly interrupting the flow of his thoughts.

 

“The question was also for you, winger!”

 

Cris leaned forward, took the joint from his hand and threw it through the window. Meeting the driver’s gaze, Neymar did not dare verbalize his thoughts. So, he just blushed and mumbled, “You know I love destroying your house…”

 

“Then, why are you not happy right now?” As soon as he had said those words, Cristiano found the answer himself. “Is this about your dad? Did he find out that you cheated for the test or what?”

 

The young Brazilian’s usual good mood had been deteriorating gradually as final exams approached. He was more hesitant in front of the goal cage, he shunned the company of girls, and locked himself in the bathroom for hours to test new dubious goods. But each time their group of friends came to Cris with pressing questions, he defended Neymar with those same words; “leave him alone.” Then, they stopped asking questions.

 

Neymar’s eyes told him he was right. But before other questions could come out of Cris’ mouth, Isco made his way between the two front seats and turned up the volume of the radio. Neymar could only smile, seeing them imitate Drake, and that smile was enough to brighten the mood of his friend.

 

_~They are friends ‘till death do them apart. Always there for each other, and people think they have known each other from the start, and that’s almost the case. First there is Neymar, the “enfant terrible” of football, an inveterate prankster, a dunce adulated by many, the best friend of everyone, a smile always stuck to his face. And with him, there’s Cristiano, the respected captain of the team, brilliant in all he achieved, dark and sarcastic, the breaker of all hearts. Sometimes when they walk in the school hallways and Neymar stops to greet someone, his best friend stares coldly above his shoulder at the person who stole the Brazilian’s attention. And Cristiano never smiles. Except to Neymar.~_

 

Neymar jumped at the noise – the sound of footsteps, so faint that he thought he dreamed it. The young man had rushed into the kitchen, when the engine of the car had stopped in front of Ronaldo’s sublime manor. Seated casually on the glass table, he was eating a bowl of cereal. He looked up, and he saw _him_.

 

 _He_ was a few feet away from him, hesitating to enter in what was yet _his_ kitchen, as if the Brazilian had marked the room like his territory and _he_ was reluctant to share it with him. Leo looked like a ghost since the death of his mother, as if a part of him had died with her ten years ago. Neymar liked to remember the little boy with the huge and smug smile with whom he played during his childhood, because he knew he would never see him again. This dark glare in which he could see his reflection as in a mirror, this unruly brown mane which protected _him,_ like a curtain, from the exterior world, and that pale, milky skin that was no more than the empty shell of a stolen soul. It was the person Leo had become at only nineteen.

 

“Cris told us the house would be empty for the week-end,” Neymar said, wanting to break the unbearable silence that had settled between them.

 

That seemed to wake Leo up and he abandoned his muteness while he opened the fridge. “Isn't that a surprise that he forgot my existence?!”

 

Leo also lost his kindness. And when he spoke to his half-brother’s best friend, he articulated each words carefully, as if his interlocutor was completely stupid. Beyond the irritation it caused, there remained misunderstanding because Neymar didn’t know how to deal with people that hated him. Neymar always thought there were only a few: his father, and himself.

 

“I’m here to make a science project with my binomial,” the voice of the younger brother resounded again. “Don't worry, we will not bother you…”

 

The Brazilian froze when he heard those words escaping Leo’s mouth, because they hadn't had a long conversation for a long time and there was no more hostility in Leo's voice. He felt an ounce of courage and dared to speak again.

 

“It’s been a long time since I saw you.” He regretted the words he had just uttered when he saw Leo’s expression. Leo, who was looking at him with profound disinterest. Leo, who was looking at him as if he was a common man. Leo, who was looking at him like he could be anyone, but mainly like he was no one.

 

Neymar watched him take two cold beers and leave the kitchen after muttering, “Enjoy yourself, Neymar.”

 

He waited for his heart to beat normally again before joining his friends in the terrace.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Someone yelled to turn up the music’s volume and everything was engulfed in a flow of bad words and techno chords. The house was thrumming. Neymar thought in his inner-self that Cristiano didn’t lie and that what he was witnessing was their greatest party.

 

Slumped on the sofa, he waited until their eyes met to smile at him and at the other end of the living room, his best friend answered the same before plunging his face into the neckline of a charming redhead. He looked at Isco, who was pressing his growing erection against the girl he danced with, whispering words in her ear, and reaping a nice slap for his efforts. He distinguished Marc in the crowd, emptying several bottles in a bowl, making a syrupy colorful punch. And he saw himself, a young man quietly siting on a couch, smoking disdainfully, looking at the masquerade that was playing around him. He saw himself and he was disgusted.

 

“Neymar,

could you come with me to the bathroom, I think that my dress’ zipper is blocked?”

 

He knew that game; the first time he'd been naive, it was during his first year in the _Charles Quint College_ , and when the girl’s lips pressed fully on his the moment he closed the bathroom’s door, he was quite surprised. But since then, he had taken advantage of these requests to spend a good time. Sometimes it ended in the bathroom, sometimes Cris and another girl were there too. And it was so easy. But this night he couldn’t follow that girl who behaved like a slut. He didn’t know her name and she looked like his sister.

 

“Neymar? Are you listening to me?”

 

But the Brazilian wasn’t listening anymore. Leo had just appeared in the destroyed living room, a glass of water in his hand. He looked haggard; a young man half asleep in his jogging pants, surrounded by noisy and drunken students. And now that he'd met Neymar’s gaze, he seemed to reproach him all this mess. Once again, Neymar’s heart started beating at an uncontrollable speed. They looked at each other during a whole minute without moving.

 

“Neymar?”

 

Finally, he reacted. He ran his fingers into his Mohawk before entwining them with the girl's ones. He had to drink a little bit more before answering.

 

“Let’s go…to the bathroom, for your dress,” he whispered in her ear.

 

When he looked in the direction of the open kitchen where Leo was standing a few seconds ago, he had already disappeared.

 

_~They are friends ‘till death do them apart. They are only eight and ten but they know –they know that they are closer than brothers. First there is Neymar, enthusiastic and full of life, he says he wants to be a football player later and he has the talent to be one. And with him there’s Leo, quiet but always smiling, he hates football but he’s an impressive flutist, he wants to be an astronaut. When Cristiano moves into his father’s house, their relationship deteriorates slowly. Sometimes Leo can see a light in Neymar’s eyes while he’s looking at Cristiano and that is the light he used to have in his eyes when he was looking at him. But Neymar doesn’t know. He doesn’t know yet.~_

He did not even know where he was going. He did not even know what he was thinking. He had followed this stranger into the bathroom, but when came the time to kiss her, he could only bring himself to turn away. So, Neymar had fled. He did not even know why he was going to the east wing of the house –leading to Leo’s bedroom. He did not even know why he was thinking about the little introverted kid.

 

But Leo was there, pushing someone completely drunk out of his private bathroom, ruthlessly, and letting him crumble to the ground. When his deep dark eyes met Neymar’s hazel gaze, he seemed to stiffen imperceptibly. He was about to go back to his room, but Neymar could not let him go again.

 

“How’s your science project?” He'd thought it would be a good subject of conversation before he saw his interlocutor’s face darken and his brows furrow.

 

“You wouldn't understand.”

 

Again and again, the same vexing words.

 

“Why are you always so mean and distant with me?”

 

It finally came out of his mouth after all these years. And neither of them could believe it. Leo barely uttered a word and Neymar acted like he didn't mind it. That’s how their relationship had been working since that moment, but it never had been okay for either of them.

 

Leo chose not to let his face show how much the question disturbed him, and he raised an eyebrow. “Why are you suddenly paying attention to me and the way I’m acting towards you?”

 

The silence was interminable. Neymar found the courage to formulate an honest answer in the liters of alcohol he'd ingested.

 

“…Because I care.”

 

Leo was about to laugh when Neymar’s lips slammed against his to shut him up. The Brazilian had acted under an impulse, his head dictating one thing and his body another. And now lips against his – he could feel the younger man struggling in his arms, gripping his hair, and there was something painfully pleasant in this forced embrace. He felt it rising in him – desire. And then, suddenly, the youngest man was not struggling anymore but kissing back, his hands clinging to his hair, not to push him away but to draw him in. They kissed until they had not enough breath left to whisper a word.

 

~*~*~*~

 

He faked smiles. He pretended to listen. He accepted the secret drink Cristiano had made to prevent hangovers, knowing perfectly well it was disgusting. And when Marc asked him how he felt, he answered “Fine”. He was fine. And this lie was as sweet as the sensation of Leo’s lips against his.

 

Neymar pretended he was fine and that was nothing new.

 

“What’s her name already?” Someone asked.

 

That hesitant voice was probably Munir’s. Sometimes Neymar forgot the kid’s existence; he had been Cristiano’s silent shadow since the captain of _Los Buhos_ had taken his defense when the coach blamed him for his poor attendance. Neymar ignored him most of the time, secretly knowing that more than his relationship with Cristiano, Munir coveted his position as a striker. He was Leo’s age but hung out with the older students. Sometimes Neymar hated him

because the kid looked too much like him.  

 

“Loretta. That’s a sick name. I still can’t believe she slept with you…” Isco’s voice sounded full of contempt. But Neymar, who knew the young man well, knew that he was merely jealous.

 

“She wanted Munir, she gets Munir. Get over it, Isco,” Cristiano intervened.

 

A smirk was slowly forming on the Brazilian’s lips when his phone vibrated in his pocket. _The Cannibal._ He'd tried to contact him several times, without leaving any voicemails. Neymar knew the message, anyway : ‘ _Where’s my money?_ ’ A wrinkle formed on his forehead. He'd tried to repay his debts but he'd finally realized that even though he had a Porsche and was attending in a reputable university, everything he had was not his but his father’s property.

 

“Are you okay?” Cristiano asked, looking at him, concerned.

 

Neymar pretended to be fine and Cristiano pretended to believe him. His phone began to vibrate again and Neymar looked at the screen. He had received a message from an unknown number. When he was certain it wouldn't be another threat from his dealer, the young man was surprised to discover a picture.

 

His incomprehension lasted only a few seconds.

 

It was his hair in Leo’s hands. It was his hands on Leo’s throat. It was their mouths against each other. It was the kiss he couldn’t stop thinking about. He'd kissed a boy, he'd kissed his best friend’s little brother and someone had caught them. It was no longer the erotic dream of a drunk guy. It was real.

 

A few words accompanied the image. _‘Telling the world that their beloved n°11 is Leosexual? I’m up to do that!!”_

 

 ** _Telling the world…_** Neymar shivered at the thought. **_Leosexual…_** He reread the message. He reread it until the words made no sense anymore and his screen danced before his eyes.

 

“Ney…”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Cristiano stopped asking questions and looked at the man by his side, worried. He focused on the road, teeth clenched in an effort to keep his calm. And Neymar felt sorry for his lack of delicacy. He opened the window and lit a joint in order to calm the compulsive trembling of his hands.

 

_~Leo watches them getting closer each day, and he slowly understands that he has no place by Neymar’s sides anymore, and that they will not remain together as he used to think. He already hates Cristiano but soon, he starts hating Neymar more. One day, Neymar starts crying for no reason while they are playing FIFA and Cristiano sits close to him and starts whispering words into his ear and patting his back. That’s the moment Leo understands Cristiano’s motivation is not to let him all alone by stealing his only friend as he used to think, that’s the moment he understands Neymar has an aura that attracts people and makes them want to be his friend. That’s the moment he understands he'll always have to share Neymar. But it so much easier to pretend to hate him.~_

 

Leo blew into the flute and notes rose into the air. His long brown hair fell over his face like a curtain to protect him from prying eyes but his mouth breathed life into a partition and that was enough for the people sitting around him on the stage to look at the tiny genius as if he was a gift from heaven. The melody of the lonely flute filled the amphitheater for a few blessed moments before everything became silent again. The applause of the few people in the vast hall was enough to draw a smile on the boy’s lips. And seated in the last row, Neymar realized there was still a place on earth where Leo wasn’t just that weird boy related to Cristiano, but a talented young man with a shy smile, and that made him happy. He applauded louder.

 

Neymar only loved sport. He wasn’t comfortable with any other school subjects. He didn’t like school as Cristiano did, wasn’t a scientist like Marc and he didn’t know how to bribe the teachers from opposite sex as Isco did brilliantly. Neymar only loved sport and he liked to think it was his quirk. So, he spent his time doing sport. It was therefore not a surprise that he had never attended a rehearsal of the college’s orchestra in three years at _Charles Quint_. But despite that, as he made his way backstage, the team’s number 11 had the feeling of being observed.

 

“Hey, Neymar! How are you, mate?”

 

How many people greeted him during a day and how many did he really know? He recognized the young man who had thrown himself into his arms like a longtime friend, as he was the constant victim of Cris and Isco’s mockery. And perhaps he had imagined that the Brazilian’s silence was a way to defend him, but he really looked like a rodent, and Neymar was just too jaded to still laugh at Isco’s comparisons. Was his name Jerry or Jordan? The football player couldn’t tell so he just smiled, and that was enough. Sometimes he was surprised by the power of a smile, it could solve all problems. And that was his favorite grin.

 

“Hey, hum...Jordi, do you know where Leo is?”

 

“He’s on stage, talking with Gerard.” The boy with the squirrel’s face answered before walking away. He had drumsticks in the back pocket of his jeans.

 

Leo was there but in the dim neon light it didn't look like him. His hair was neatly tucked behind his ear, and his growing smile showed white and well-aligned teeth. He seemed alive. In that moment, he seemed happier than Neymar was, and the popular student regretted to have to extinguish that light that was shining in Leo's eyes. Leo, who always seemed bleak and offline, now beaming next to the second-year student. Soon he won't smile anymore.

 

“What are you doing here? It’s a dress rehearsal and it’s supposed to be private.” Leo wasn't smiling anymore. The young flutist looked at him with such anger that Neymar hesitated to turn back. And **_fuck_** he wasn't quick on the draw with first year-students, like Cristiano.

 

“We need to talk.” And perhaps the memory of their kiss came to Leo’s mind because he became livid, even though he'd never lost composure in front of his former friend, before.

 

“Not now…” Leo’s voice was almost inaudible. “I told you it’s private and…”

 

Piqué interrupted him, “It’s okay, Leo, I’m leaving now!” He took one last look over his shoulder and said, “Good luck for the next game, Neymar.”

 

Neymar had always considered the gigantic trumpeter with a lot of curiosity; that nineteen years old student who annoyed everyone and was friend with the tiny introverted son of the dean. He had a laugh that shook the walls and a feline look. And despite all Neymar’s grimaces, he had never been able to charm him. Gerard continued to consider him like the kid rotten by parties and bad company he was. And sometimes there was something in his eyes, something that made him think of his father.

 

Leo cleared his throat and Neymar turned his full attention on him. “So…What do you want?” He sounded annoyed as usual.

 

“Talking about the kiss. There’s a photo.” The Brazilian took out his phone of his pocket and handed it to the young man facing him.

 

Leo leaned towards the screen, wearing as usual a mask of impassivity and Neymar would have killed to know what he was thinking, and why he scrutinized the picture, how he deciphered the scene. Suddenly, the elder man felt uncomfortable and frightened and angry. And his interlocutor still did not react.

 

“I need you to help me keep that person from publishing the photo; it could ruin my future and destroy my reputation. Perhaps is it someone you know...” He paused. Finally, the musician looked at him, he looked at him with his big dark eyes like burning coals, he looked at him with rage but it was something, at least. The football player continued, “This could be misinterpreted, this could get us into trouble…”

 

“I don’t care.”

 

There was silence. They looked at each other without moving, defying the other, before Neymar found the ability to speak again.

 

“Why…Why do you always pretended you don’t give a shit about what people think of you? Does it make you feel better? Unless…” His voice became lower, “…unless you want everyone in school to know we kissed.”

 

There was silence again before Leo reacted. He gathered his things, scattered on the pulpit, and stuffed them aggressively in his bag, then raised his burning gaze to his brother’s friend before disappearing.

 

“You’re unbelievable; first you accuse my friends of this, and now you claim that I’ll be grateful to be associated with the great footballer that you are! I didn’t ask for anything. You’re the one who did this. You’re the one who kissed me. Now deal with it.”

 

_~He spies them. He always does. Because now that Neymar and he are not friends anymore, Leo can’t see him and he’ll never admit that he misses him. So he spies Cris and Ney, when they return from training and lie on the sofa to play FIFA, when they play in the garden, when they are locked in Cris' room. He has now his eye riveted on the keyhole. The boys are fourteen and he’s twelve. “How was it with Lola?” Cristiano asks and Neymar shrugs. Cristiano insists. “Hey, tell me. I told you everything.” And Leo also wants to know even if he has no idea who Lola is. “Well…It was fucking horrible mate! First of all, we were at her place and there was her sister sleeping next door, and I don’t know, she told me to be careful but fuck that stressed me out and you told me to be quick…” That’s the moment when Cristiano bursts into laughter. Leo always wonders why he keeps mocking Neymar’s fails, he thinks it has to do with the way he is looking at him, the way he only smiles to him.~_

 

~*~*~*~

 

“What’s up?” The voice in the handset seemed distant in the empty street.

 

“Dad hates me.”

 

There was a small chuckle. “Don’t be stupid. Nobody hates you and certainly not dad; he’s a little harsher with you because you’re his son and he wants you to succeed. That’s all.”

 

“If he doesn’t hate me already, then he will soon. You will all hate me.”

 

“Why? What did you do?” Rafaella asked but only silence answered. “Neymar?” The phone fell on the ground. “Neymar?”

 

“NEYMAR!”

 

~*~*~*~

 

He could only see red.

 

Cheeks crushed against the sidewalk, small stones embedded in his palm, the young man could taste the bitter taste of blood in his mouth and he saw the street dance before his eyes. He spat out blood. The bat caressed his aching body. Neymar closed his eyes, but he could hear the sound of his phone being crushed under the sole of a shoe.

 

He could only hear red.

 

The Cannibal’s voice that kept repeating to him, “Where’s my money, son of a bitch?” The roar of the cars far away and the movement of the bat that was whipped into the air and slammed on his ribs with a thud. Neymar begged, moaning “I don't have it yet.” He bit his lips until blood trickled down his chin.

 

He could only feel red.

 

Like the blood that soaked his clothes. Like the blood that drowned his thoughts. And his phone in tatters. He didn’t know that a few blocks away, in a famous private college, in one fraternity of the campus, someone was about to press the send button and completely mess up his entire existence.

 

He just started screaming. He was calling for help.

 


	2. Be unguarded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~He could have chased him to the end of the world. If he'd asked, he would have let everything go to follow him. But it could never be good to love as much as he did. A love where you lost yourself. A love that slowly destroyed your existence. He could have chased him to the end of the world if he'd allowed himself to. ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spend hours listening to "Take it easy" by Jetta, and this song inspired me a lot for this chapter. I hope you'll like it!

“Stop this,” he repeated for the thousand times.

 

But his roommate didn’t obey, too focused on staring at his laptop's screen. In the spacious room that the two students shared, silence had settled in a few seconds ago. It was Gerard, casually lying on his bed that saw it first. He'd opened his mouth, and it had stayed fully open for a whole minute, the same way he did when he took a short breath before blowing into his trumpet. Leo had mocked him, before he'd leaned towards his best friend and looked at Gerard's phone from above his shoulder. And then, nothing was funny anymore. Leo hadn't uttered a word since that moment.

 

“That’s not so terrible, Leo, when you think about it. All people can see here is your glorious hair and…tongues, I guess?” Gerard continued his monologue. “The one who’s in trouble actually is Neymar. I’m wondering how his super popular band of athletes full of testosterone will react when they’ll see it…”

 

He thought Leo would never answer, but Leo finally opened his mouth with a great effort and mumbled, “He’s in the hospital.”

 

“What?”

 

The small flutist stopped staring at the screen of his laptop for a moment and lifted his dark eyes to Gerard's face. “They found him in the street, covered in blood. He might have broken ribs and a problem with his foot…” His sad gaze met Gerard’s as he finished his sentence. “…He won't be able to play the end of the season.”

 

They stayed silent until the trumpeter cleared his throat, catching Leo's attention. “How do you know that?”

 

“There are comments below the picture,” Leo answered.

 

“You shouldn't read them. You really should stop this.”

 

“Too late.”

 

 ** _I can’t believe Ney kissed that retard, I can’t believe he’s into weird boys…Ugh._** It was with a furious and strange appetite that he continued to read. ** _That’s probably the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, that popular cunt and that flutist twat, how cute!_** Soon enough, Gerard turned off all the lights and Leo stayed in the dark. ** _Gross_** All his muscles tensed, his eyes riveted on the screen ** _WTF?! Isn't Neymar supposed to like GIRLS well I’m not sure of this person’s gender…_** He should have stopped. He should have stopped before he couldn’t anymore. There were over five hundred comments. He read them all of them until the very last one.

 

~*~*Three days later*~*~

 

 _He_ reappeared, like Leo dreamed many nights before.

 

 _His_ flashy red Porsche parked in the school’s parking and conversations slowly died around the dean's son –sitting near the fountain where a maze of roses was sculpted, next to the entrance of _Charles Quint College._ First it was Isco who got out of the car, stretching and yawning while he looked at the assembly of spectators in front of the school, eying them with contempt. Leo disliked him deeply – the bearded man had always behaved like a jerk to which life had always given everything. He was Neymar’s first drinking companion and the one who enabled Cristiano’s tyranny the most. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so vulgar and haughty, he could’ve been more loved. Behind him was Munir, a pale copy of Neymar and the one who would be _his_ substitute on the field. He was young, impetuous, and Leo truly hated him. Munir was laughing with Marc Bartra, the only one Leo could handle. Unlike the other football players that had climbed out of the Porsche before him, the pretty young man didn't seem to possess any ounce of malice. As usual, he was perky and smiling.

 

It was not them that people wanted to see – neither the captain of _Los Buhos_ nor his inseparable friend had been seen since the picture of that kiss got out.

 

The front door of the car opened, and Cristiano appeared, flawless from tip to toes. The physical differences between the two brothers were made sharper when they were only separated by few meters. And Leo could feel the eye of the crowd on him but it didn’t matter, his heart had stopped its delirious race in his chest. Cris bypassed the trunk of the car and opened the passenger door.

 

Leo first saw _his_ hesitant foot landing on the asphalt. He saw the end of _his_ crutch. Then he saw the whole of _him_. Neymar Da Silva Santos Junior. In appearance it was him, the young man with the caramel colored skin and the arms covered by tattoos. His blond hair, the piercings in his ears, and his walking pace, created by questionable taste in clothing. It was him but it wasn’t the real _him_. The one who captured people’s kindness, the one whose attention everyone was seeking.

 

And the flutist was there, in the middle of the crowd, waiting impatiently for the winger to look at him. He expected it. He had always expected it.

 

The cathedral bell rang and by his side, Gerard interrupted Leo’s reverie.

 

“Leo, we have geopolitics. There won't be any good places left if we don’t move now…”

 

“One more second. Please,” Leo begged.

 

In complete silence, Neymar and his friends fought their way through the crowd. Neymar did not smile, he did not looked at anyone. He difficulty rushed into the building, almost brushing Leo’s arm in his path. The students slowly followed him without saying a word but Leo remained motionless.

 

A voice resounded. “Can we go now?”

 

“Another second, Geri, please one more.”

 

He waited for his heart to beat normally again.

 

_~ “What are you thinking about?” Neymar asks and Leo hates that question. They are lying on Leo’s carpet in his room, watching the fluorescent stars glued to the ceiling. They do not speak for several minutes. They are eleven and nine. This night it’s only the two of them because Cristiano spends the week-end with his mother. In the dark, Leo guesses Neymar’s still waiting for his answer, so he says, “I’m thinking about how there will be high school and stuff when we'll be older.” He’s lying of course, because even if he’s in another city, he’s still thinking about Cristiano, about Cristiano who’s stealing his best friend. Cristiano who has a habit of saying 'damn' and Neymar who says it too now. The young Brazilian says 'damn' all the time, ever since his half-brother came to live in Barcelona, and every time he says this word Leo wants to murder him. This is just a small detail yet. But small details change lives.~_

 

“… ‘FAG’ was painted all over his locker.”

 

“How did he react?”

 

“He didn’t do anything; he took his notebooks, gave them to Marc and slammed the door shut. Cris, on the other hand, he looked furious.”

 

Leo should be listening to the lesson, instead of listening to the chatter of Munir El Haddadi and his classmate. But he couldn’t help listening in once he heard Neymar’s name.

 

“Did he do something?”

 

“Who?”

 

“Cris! Did Cris did something?”

 

Leo waited as the new winger of the team seemed to think.

 

“Well…Neymar nudged him and he smiled back. As he always does.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

“…She asked my name and I wanted to tell her ‘bitches used to know my name’ but instead, I answered ‘Isco, miss!’”

 

“How brave of you!”

 

“Fuck off, Bartra. That new literature professor is too hot for you to ever have a chance but I bet I can get her in my bed! Right, Ney?

 

Neymar slowly raised his eyes from his plate and noticed that all the people at the table had stopped eating and were waiting for his answer.

 

He smiled to Isco who was gesticulating obscenely. “Are you asking me if I think that our professor is hot or if I think that you can fuck her? Because then, there’ll be different answers!”

 

Marc was the first to burst out laughing, followed by almost everyone. Isco pretended to lift a hand on his friend but Neymar pulled away hastily and exclaiming, while waving at his crutches, “You can’t beat me up, I’m disabled!” causing once again a general hilarity.

 

It was their captain’s voice that stopped the cacophony. “Good to see your humor didn't drown in my half-brother’s throat, winger. I was starting to think that being Leosexual had killed all your joy of living.”

 

Nobody was laughing anymore.

 

Sitting a few tables away in _Starbucks_ with his computer for sole company, because Geri was at his fencing class, Leo met Neymar’s gaze for a split second. He'd heard Cristiano’s words, he'd heard everything. He felt his cheeks burning red.

 

“What…What did you just said?!”

 

Neymar was so pale and his voice was so low that he didn’t seem to be the same person that was joking seconds ago. He found the strength to look above the table, to Cristiano. And the Brazilian had asked a question but it didn’t matter, because everyone had heard Cristiano’s words distinctly. Yet there was only one that mattered to Neymar. _Leosexual **.**_

****

**_Leosexual._ **

 

“Oh, you were listening, finally. That’s a progress.” And Cristiano’s lips stretched in a large smile, like the Cheshire cat.

 

Neymar had seen that mocking smile accompanying cruel comments. But he had never been on its receiving end, until that day.

 

“You are the one who send me the message. You said this word…” With a trembling voice, he stood up. Their teammates around the table started to exchange worried looks. “You did that to me…” Neymar whispered.

 

And the one he used to call his best friend said, “What are you talking about?!”

 

“YOU DID THAT TO ME, YOU FUCKING…”

 

Everything happened really quickly. The table was overturned, glasses exploded on the floor, cups spilled on clothes, insults filling the room. Soon, Cristiano and Neymar were separated, their faces so close that they could have kissed.

 

 

Held back by the members of the football team, Neymar was fighting furiously and Isco’s arms were not strong enough to contain his rage.

 

“HE SAID THE WORD, HE FUCKING SAID IT!”

 

Cristiano pulled away and hurried out the coffee, jostling a waitress whose plate fell. Munir went after him. Neymar stopped struggling.

 

There was nothing but silence, until Isco said. “Everyone says this word, Ney. It doesn’t come from Cris, I swear, everyone says it. So calm down, you know he loves you more than himself; he’d never do that to you. None of us would!”

 

Every eyes were upon him as Neymar's eyes wandered the room, finally meeting Leo's gaze. He hadn’t moved an inch. And Neymar’s eyes were not laughing anymore, they were nothing but empty. Leo noticed for the first time how much Neymar looked sad and a feeling of guilt overwhelmed him.

 

_~They do not fight because they always agree with each other. Until that day. They are eighteen. Neymar rushes towards his best friend and before Cris can utter a word to prove everything people are saying is bullshit, the Brazilian punches him in the face. “I SWEAR TO GOD I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!” Cristiano, sprawled on the floor, wipes the blood that trickled down the corner of his mouth. “Ney, listen…I didn’t touch her…” But Neymar is not listening anymore, he’s too angry to listen. Because Ronaldo can have all the girls he wants but he cannot have Rafaella, he cannot treat her like any girl. “SHE’S FUCKING SIXTEEN, YOU DISGUSTING ASSHOLE!” And Neymar is uncontrollable and he could kill Cristiano if the taller man wasn’t stronger. Cris immobilizes him, capturing his wrists and Ney closes his eyes because he can’t handle the stare of the person he considers like his brother. He would spit on his face. “Ney…Ney, open your eyes. Look at me.” The Brazilian obeys, his eyes are bloodshot and he is trembling with anger. Cristiano continues, “It’s me, Ney. I would never touch your sister because I consider her my sister, too. I would never do that to you. It’s me, Ney. Your best friend. I swear I’ll never hurt you.” Cristiano has in his eyes something that says that Neymar could hit him and he’ll never hit back. He loves Neymar way too much to hurt him. He simply loves Neymar way too much. It’s written in his eyes.~_

~*~*~*~

The roar of a car, the headlights shedding light on the main façade of the house, the slamming of the door, and then Cristiano’s voice.

 

Leo woke up and looked at his phone, his mind still clouded with sleep. It was three in the morning. He could have screamed, he wanted to. By the time the young man cursed his brother up to the fourth generation, new shouts reached him. He could recognize the voice that echoed in the living room, it was Neymar’s.

 

Earlier during the week he'd accidentally heard Isco and Marc talking about the duo being reconciled as they left the locker room after training. Leo understood that their friends had succeeded, he understood that Cris and Ney would never stay apart too long, they couldn’t.

 

“I think I’m going to die…” Neymar said and Leo guessed he was drunk.

 

The sound of broken glass resounded in the whole house, quickly followed by hysterical laughter. Leo gave up on going back to sleep and left his room. He paused on the last step of the stairs, appalled by the sight in front of his eyes. The injured man, sprawled on the floor, stopped laughing.

 

“Leo?” Neymar asked, wide-eyed.

 

He was soaked with rain, or sweat, or maybe both, and it wasn't disgust painted on Leo’s face as he looked down at the Brazilian, but sadness, a deep sadness that squeezed his throat. Because Neymar suddenly looked like the young smiling boy he used to be, except he was under the influence of alcohol, and he looked like a drunken ten years old boy. And beyond the emotion that upset Leo’s stomach, he felt incredibly angry at the drunk student lying on his floor. How much he hated him for destroying himself like that.

 

The flutist finally noticed Cristiano, trying to lift his best friend up.

 

“What are you waiting for? Help me, get him on his feet.”

 

Leo obeyed. The two brothers, after several attempts, managed to hoist Neymar up on his legs. Each of them took him under his arm so that he wouldn't fall. Cristiano grabbed his crutches.

 

“Where did you find him?” Leo asked as the three men tried to climb the stairs leading up to the bedrooms.

 

 

He thought Cristiano was not going to answer but he finally did. “At Isco’s place. I guess he forgot he has crutches and a broken rib and he can’t drink until passing out like he used to before. “

 

“I did not drink that much…” Neymar intervened. He doubled over almost immediately to empty his bowels on the polished floor.

 

Leo looked at the both of them as they entered Cris’ room and it brought back distressing memories.

 

Cristiano apparently didn't forget his small half-brother. “This dumbass should not drink that much, last time he did, someone took advantage of it.”

 

The door slammed shut behind him. But Leo did not hear the sound. He could barely breathe. And he'd sworn he wouldn’t do it anymore, he'd sworn he was too old for it, he'd tried to convince himself he wasn't even interested in what may happen beyond this closed door anymore. But curiosity was like a wild appetite devouring him from the inside, and he yielded to it. He bent down and looked through the keyhole.

 

“That was fantastic!” Neymar exclaimed, lying across the king bed. “You would have enjoyed it so much, Cris! Damn, there was the redhead girl you danced with the other night, she asked for you!”

 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, busy undoing the laces of Neymar's shoes, Cristiano answered with a scathing voice, “I don’t give a fuck about this whore.”

 

There was a silence before his interlocutor asked, hesitant. “Are you mad at me?”

 

Cristiano’s features softened as he heard the drunk man’s worried tone. His lips even drew in a smirk.

 

“I am not mad at you… It’s just that I was worried when Isco called me to tell me you passed out again. I had to suspend a meeting of the presidents of the fraternities to come to your rescue.”

 

Neymar seemed to breathe again. “You’re the best! That’s why you’re my best friend! I love you mate!”

 

The Captain of _Los Buhos_ patiently finished untying Neymar's laces, and he waited until he heard the first snores to answer, “I love you too.”

 

Leo slept badly that night.

 

All he wanted was for the two popular friends to have disappeared in the morning, and thought his wishes came true when he didn’t saw Cristiano’s BMW parked in the driveway. Leo had one hand casually tucked under his t-shirt, the other untangling his long hair, when he came face to face with Neymar in the kitchen. They both froze. The Brazilian was, as usual, the first to break the silence, swallowing his cereals.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping on campus?!”

 

“Aren’t you supposed to have died from an alcoholic coma already?!”

 

It was difficult to imagine that someone who was looking as inoffensive as Leo could pronounce out loud such violent words. But Neymar had learned to not underestimate people that had suffered.

 

“Hey, hey, look Leo, I’m not your enemy so why do you hate me? I was your friend before-- before your mother died.” The brunette didn’t answer, too focused on pouring himself a glass of orange juice. Neymar whispered, “Leo…”

 

“Where were you?” Leo suddenly turned towards the older student and stared at him. “The day of the funeral, where were you?”

 

A sigh escaped Ney’s lips and maybe, he realized the conversation was taking a dangerous turn.

 

“I couldn’t come, I already told you a billion times. Look, I was eleven, Leo. It was not easy, I didn’t know how to react, I didn’t want to attend that kind of event…”

 

“You’re such a fucking egoist…” Leo muttered, clenching teeth. And **_God_** he just wanted to take his breakfast in peace before going back to college. But Neymar was too oblivious to understand his agoraphobic needs.

 

 

“What did you just say?” The Brazilian asked.

 

“I NEEDED YOU!”

 

“SO WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!” And now Neymar was shouting in response, with gaping mouth and wide eyes, veins throbbing on his temples as his voice reached a new octave. And now Neymar had abandoned the smiling mask he was always wearing in Leo’s presence. And Leo didn’t feet guilt anymore, just hatred. “You were fucking mute every time I tried to speak with you… ”

 

And Leo answered, shouting even louder, “OF FUCKING COURSE I'D JUST LOST MY MOM! Have you ever had any problems, Neymar?!”

 

Calm slowly returned as Leo took in a breath, his chest shaken by his heavy breathing.

 

Neymar stopped staring at his tense body and said, “Look I just wanted to know why you were here, I was worried about you, I didn’t want to start a war. I’m trying really hard to understand you, but you seem not to give a fuck about anything related to me. Don't worry though, I’ll leave you alone now.”

 

Neymar remained seated at the table and it was Leo who left the kitchen. He wondered if he hadn’t been too cruel. He wondered if Neymar would ever forgive him. He wondered if he would ever forgive himself.

 

_~”What are you thinking about?” Neymar asks and Leo hates that question. They are on their way to school and Cristiano is in the front of the car with the driver, too busy answering to his cell phone. So it’s kind of only the two of them, like it hasn't been for two years. Leo is eleven and Neymar is thirteen. The Brazilian is still pretending to be Leo's friend, calling the two brothers ‘his best friends’ as if he had actually talked to the younger one more than two words per days. Leo, looking at the window of the car, guesses Neymar is waiting for his answer so he says, “I’m thinking about my mom.” Leo’s mom was a dangerous topic when she was in a psychiatric hospital, and now that she killed herself, that was even more the case. Neymar has nothing to say. He could tell Leo he feels sorry, or pat his back, but he just wants to disappear because he hates talking about that. The truth is, he prefers hanging out with Cristiano, who’s more likable. The truth is, he is slowly abandoning Leo to his sadness. Because sadness is all Neymar always had, hidden behind his smiles.~_

~*~*~*~

He saw him against the swing doors of the lecture hall, looking at him, and at him only. Focused on the notes in front of his eyes, he did not dare meet his gaze. When the orchestra finished the song, Leo threw him a shy look under his long eyelashes. They looked at each other for a long time. The young man on the stage stopped breathing the whole time that exchange lasted.

The spell was broken when Neymar got up, painfully leaning on his crutches. As he left the practically empty hall, slowly climbing up the stairs, Leo slipped from the stage to follow him, the stares of the other musicians following him.

 

He could have chased him to the end of the world. If he'd asked, he would have let everything go to follow him. But it could never be good to love as much as he did. A love where you lost yourself. A love that slowly destroyed your existence. He could have chased him to the end of the world if he'd allowed himself to.

 

“Are you following me?” Neymar asked.

 

“Are you alright?” Leo answered.

 

They were in the desert school hallways; one leaning on his crutches, his mouth twisted in a painful grin and the other biting his lips as his eyes focused on his interlocutor’s face. They hadn’t really met since their confrontation after Neymar’s hangover, days ago. And they both looked very uncomfortable facing each other, as if that situation evoked painful memories.

 

The Brazilian's voice finally broke the silence. “What do you want from me?”

 

And now that he'd followed him, Leo couldn’t pretend it was a mistake, he couldn’t make up excuses, he had to be honest. But for some unknown reasons, he didn’t even know where to start, what tell him first. The truth was that he was sorry. The truth was that he had never really paid attention to Neymar’s secret demons. The truth was that he'd always thought he had the monopole of the pain since his mother died. And now that he was looking into the Brazilian’s hazel eyes, it was a torture to maintain his gaze.

 

As the words formed in his mind, Leo saw his father’s other son, leaning against a pillar and watching them from afar. Leo looked back at Neymar who was considering him with a raised eyebrow.

 

“I just wanted to know if you’re recovering as fast as you want.”

 

The football player seemed to be thinking about the question and frowned, as if he wanted to avoid a trap, or guessed there wasn’t an ounce of sincerity in Leo’s voice.

 

“I told everyone that you are the one who kissed me when I was drunk.” The words hit the younger student with full force. He did not have time to recover that Neymar was speaking again, “You’re the one who put this idea in my head…I’m sorry.”

 

And he walked away, limping on crutches. And too soon, there was a hot breath whispering into Leo's ear.

 

“I see the way you’re looking at him like there is still a chance you could be friends again, you really can’t help yourself. You’ve always been like that, begging forgiveness. Leo, the adorable musical genius…” Cristiano spat his hatred, lips drawn back to reveal bloody canines. And Leo, despite all his effort to keep his composure, felt fear burn his entrails.

 

Cristiano continued. “You want him to come back to you, and you’d do whatever he wants. But let me tell you something; the only gift you should give him after everything you’ve done is stay away from him.”

 

The captain of _Los Buhos_ walked after his best friend, leaving Leo with the ghosts of his past in this deserted hallway. And the hatred, lurking in the shadows, reappeared, chasing the frantic beating of his heart. Leo thought back to all these stolen promises, saw Neymar’s smiling face above him. And anger slowly ravaged his heart. Unable to move under the pain, the student wondered if one day his scars would stop bleeding.

_~It's a sin he commit in the dark. Because eyelids closed, he is allowed to. He cannot tell anyone, it remains his dirty little secret. And he feels awful every time he thinks of him and his body reacts. It happens at the most inconvenient moments. He keeps thinking about the way Neymar leaned towards him topless and asked questions. It becomes a shameful obsession and the cold baths he takes aren't enough anymore. Everyone starts asking questions about his strange behavior and Neymar is worried. He swears he’s going to stop because it’s quite ridiculous to fantasy over someone he could never have. He wonders how he can make the image of the Brazilian leave his mind. He feels awful every time he slips his hand in his pant, sitting on the toilets. But he cannot stop. Cristiano is sixteen and he cannot tell it to anyone. He’s too scared of what he is slowly becoming.~_

 

~*~*~*~

 

The party was in full swing on the private beach while a solitary flame rose to meet a ceiling of stars. A tiny silhouette in the flow of the flames, wrapped in a blanket, shivered in this April night and the stare riveted on the fire, he watched the slow destruction of the red Porsche. And perhaps, he should have called the police because someone broke into the property of the Ronaldos to burn a car, taking advantage of the fact that the eldest child of the house was organizing a small party on the beach. But he was fascinated by the sight.

 

A voice suddenly broke the silence of the night and the young man stiffened.

 

“Are you Lionel?”

 

Leo turned, ready to argue his innocence but no sound escaped his lips. The man in front of him was in no way distinguishable because of the beard that took over half his face and the shadow of his hat that veiled his eyes. Fear took over his reason.

 

“Yes I am…How do you know my name?”

 

“Do not panic; I am on your side…” the stranger answered, stroking his beard. “We have something in common…”

 

 _Something in common?!_ “What?”

 

“You should rather ask me who.”

 

He had a row of long white teeth that could be seen in the dark. And perhaps if Leo had seen the match still smoking that he was hiding in his back, perhaps if Leo had seen the bites that covered his forearms, perhaps if Leo had seen his bloodshot eyes, if he had seen his face hidden in the shadows, maybe he would not have asked with a hesitant smile.

 

“Who?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything will be more violent and passionate...  
> Kudos and comments are very much appreciated!:)


	3. In the chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~But because, he never knew the right words to say, He kissed him.  
> Mouth against his, firmly pressing the thin body against him as something fragile, Ronaldo told everything. He gave everything. I love you. I’ve always been. Fucking. In. Love. With. You.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time since I updated and I'm sorry if you were waiting for the following chapters but so much things happened to me... Anyway, here's a new chapter, I hope you'll like it!!

“Please introduce yourself.”

 

The young man sighed. “I am Cristiano Ronaldo, son of the headmaster of _Charles Quint_ College and the owner of this house. I'm a law student in that university. I'm twenty one.”

 

“Where were you when everything happened?” The police officer asked.

 

It was always the same questions, always the same answers, like an endless race, like a dog trying tirelessly to catch its tail. And there was this temptation to pretend nothing really happened and all of this was a bad joke – he would wake up in his room and laugh about this nightmare. But Cristiano blinked several times and the scene didn't change. As the questioning continued, he could feel the disaster coming behind the closed doors of the mansion.

 

The detective’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “M--- Mister Ronaldo? Where were you when everything happened?”

 

The young man was trying so hard to maintain a semblance of privacy despite the police breaking into his home that he flashed a broad smile and asked back, “And you Detective... Rodriguez. Aren’t you too young to be a detective?!”

 

And in the span of half a second, he could see the officer hesitate, his cheeks become red, his long dark eyelashes flutter, his mouth twist, before he found his composure again.

 

“Please, um, answer the question.”

 

What could he say? What could he say? The house was like an anthill. Forensics were observing every corners suspiciously, police officers were interviewing hungover revelers and at the other end of the living room, Neymar was suffering the same torturous and stuffy questioning. Suddenly, they looked at each other by an inexplicable coincidence.

 

“I was talking on the phone with someone.” Cristiano finally answered, hoping it was almost the end. But it wasn't.

 

“Who?”

 

“My ex-girlfriend, Elle.”

 

It was like rewinding the same tape again and again, questions became urgent and countless. Would it ever stop? **_Who burned the car?_** _I don’t know_. **_Could it be one of the guests of the party?_** _I don’t know._ ** _Do you even know every guest?_** _Well, yes…_ ** _Do you know someone who doesn’t like Mister da Silva Santos Junior, someone who would want to hurt him?_** _No_. **_Are you sure of it?_** _Yes, I do Officer._

 

Every time he lied, Cristiano looked in his best friend’s direction and told himself that it was for the best, for Neymar and for himself.

 

“Do you know the young man who disappeared?”

 

“He’s my brother, Lionel Cuccitini Ronaldo.”

 

~*~*Thirty-eight hours later*~*~

 

Cristiano pressed the switch and the room was flooded with light. The beating of his heart stopped when the face emerged from behind the door of the fridge. The silence dragged on as they stared at each other.

 

“Can you explain to me where the fuck you were?” The elder brother asked, crossing his arms.

 

The youngest started gesticulating. “Don’t…Don’t tell anyone you saw me, I only came to take food and clothes…”

 

“Everybody was worried, idiot; Dad, Neymar, the police.”

 

“I can’t come back home right now. I have things to do,” Leo answered in a whisper.

 

Cristiano heaved a sigh, threading his fingers through his messy hair wearily.

 

“Just…Call Father, he’s worried.”

 

“I already told you I can’t. I can’t.”

 

Then, Cristiano woke up with a start in the middle of his room.

_~_ _Words quietly pronounced can break a heart. And Leo's mother is crazy. And Leo's mother is dying slowly. But a nine year old boy cannot understand it. So when she grabs his hand and traces the line on his palm, he does not know yet that this is the last memory that he will have of her; a woman ravaged by the time who ends her life, an alleged fortune teller. "This world is not made for us. You and me, Leo, we are marginalized; we will never be intelligent or beautiful enough to be loved on this Earth. In the afterlife a better world awaits us, without tears. Take my hand, come!" And at the same time someone’s pulling him to the other side of the room. "Marta enough! Stop frightening him! "And Leo leaves the cold and rough hands behind him as his father leads him away. Cristiano remains in a corner of the room, motionless. She puts her amber eyes on him and smiles sadly, "Tell him that I still loved him even if I had lost my mind." But this suffering, no one can understand it. But this suffering, no one can bear it. Cristiano will never say anything._ _~_

 

~*~*~*~

 

“I don’t want to lose him.”

 

Cristiano had never heard sadness in his father’s voice, not even after his mother left or after Marta went crazy. It was a man who had lost all the women of his life and he did not trust them since then. He had taught his sons how perfidious and treacherous women were and how versatile they could be. He was an absent father but Cristiano had always thought that, at least, he loved them. And in the empty locker room, lacing his shoes, his phone stuck between his ear and his shoulder, the young man didn't know what to answer.

 

“You heard me, Cris? You have to find your brother and bring him home again, because he’s the only family we have left.”

 

He felt a lump clogging his throat and he resisted the furious urge to hit the wall. Instead, he nodded and swallowed dryly.

 

“Yes, father. I heard you.”

 

“I can feel your anger, son. Do not let it destroy you. Make me proud, today.”

 

The other players were already on the pitch but the arrival of the captain of _Los Buhos_ triggered a round of applause from the almost full stands. Cristiano did not make any gesture towards them and he even seemed to stiffen a bit more as a standing ovation took over the public. He jogged to the small group who was exchanging passes.

"Sometimes it’s hard to believe you are considered the most charismatic and handsome boy of _Charles Quint_ when you cannot even fake the joy of being on the field," Isco whispered to him, stretching his legs one after the other.  


"It's Neymar that has the charisma, I only have the looks," Cristiano bit back scornfully, triggering laughter from the spectators of their exchange. Isco had no time to reply before the coach whistled, forcing the two friends to postpone their conversation to later to approach the group.

 

"As you know this is one of our last games of the season, we still have a chance of winning our tenth trophy but for that, we must be wary of this team and score points ... Cristiano, I know that your buddy is not there but I'll put Munir instead of Neymar at your side in attack, I think he has many assets and can give us beautiful surprises. "

 

The roar of the crowd reached its climax when the opposing team came on the field and the voice of the coach, despite his best efforts, was inaudible. Players dispersed to go to their position and Cristiano saw the young player that had to replace the Brazilian trying to get closer to him.

 

“I truly think we can make good things happen for the team, together.”

 

And Cristiano knew the kid admired him beyond measure. He boasted to the first years students about how he was playing alongside older students and he attempted to copy the hair styles of the team number 11.

 

Maybe Cristiano should have been friendly but he had no desire to pretend so he just replied, “Fix it, you’re not Neymar.”

 

After all, he wasn’t the charismatic one.

 

Ninety minutes later, everything was over and they had lost. He could forever blame himself for having failed his ball control when he had shot or slipped during the penalty but he could never go back in time. The stadium seemed so quiet now.

 

“It’s okay.” He heard his friend say and he could guess Neymar was as disappointed as him. The roles were reversed – it was Neymar patting his back and telling him he did a great job, trying to cheer the whole team up. Cristiano no longer wanted to be a true captain. He wondered when everything had changed, when he started not bearing Neymar’s presence, when he started being repulsed just by seeing his best friend.

 

Because he had kissed a boy. Because he had kissed someone else.

 

Now every time Cristiano closed his eyes he could see Leo. This time, he was seating on his bed, twisting a lock of hair around his finger nervously.

 

“You said Neymar missed me, right? You said he’s worried.”

 

“Leave, just leave me alone.”

 

“Are you jealous, Cris? Are you jealous of our kiss, are you jealous of the way he always came back to me even if I ignored him, are you jealous of me?” A wide satisfied smile stretched Leo's lips. “Are you?”

 

Cristiano struggled in his sleep, fighting invisible demons and all he longed for was the time he would finally open his eyes and realize everything was just the illusory lie of a nightmare.

_~Words are more violent than punches. Pain slowly disappears while words stay printed in your mind forever. But this violence cannot be seen or even distinguished. And Neymar pretends he's ignoring his father’s sudden fury and Cristiano pretends he isn't listening. Neymar rarely cries but when he does, Cristiano feels like it is his duty to protect him from being hurt. So he’s the one doing the Brazilian’s home works, paying his debts and he knows **that’s so bad** but he can’t help himself. And this stupid obsession starts becoming more than a stupid obsession. They grow together, always, and their relationship is somehow eternal. At seventeen, it all becomes fragile. It starts with a puff at a party and soon, Ney’s not the same. He sings the loudest, he dances the most, he drinks too much and his pupils are too often dilated. And while he’s partying, Cristiano is upstairs, finishing their home works. And at that moment, he hates Neymar. Later the same night, Neymar comes to the room and presses his body against his best friend’s to watch over his head what he’s writing. “Seriously Cris, you should let me fall.” “Shut up.” “Seriously it’s getting ridiculous at this point…I don’t need you to do my work. You should--” “SHUT UP! I won’t okay? I won’t stop. Now go take a fucking bath, you stink.” Ney smiles and it is sincere. When he shuts the door behind him, Cristiano bites his lips until he tastes blood to keep himself from screaming. And this stupid obsession is so much more than a stupid obsession.~_

 

~*~*~*~

 

He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to move but the ringing did not stop.

 

“I--Is it Cristiano Ronaldo?”

 

“Yes. What?”

 

He didn’t know what day it was or what hour. He didn’t know where Neymar was and his whole body was tense with apprehension.

 

“It is Detective Rodriguez… I wanted to talk to you about the case. I know you lied to me.”

 

“Are you even surprised?”

 

For a few seconds, Cristiano heard nothing but the heavy breathing of his interlocutor on the phone. “I---I don’t understand. What you’ve done is forbidden, it is…”

 

“I know what I did. Are you calling me to arrest me on the phone, because that would be quite funny?!”

 

“I’m calling because I want answers.” That wasn’t even a surprise; Cristiano let out a grunt of irritation while the officer continued. “Who do you think you’re protecting; Mister da Silva Santos? Do you think we don’t know him as well? Do you think he would have done the same for you, he would have sacrificed himself for you, do you think it is…mutual?”

 

It started with a buzz in his ears, the continuous sound of a jackhammer sinking into the bitumen, and Cris wished he had dreamed the last words. He wished that policeman was as stupid as he sounded. He wished nobody knew. The young student was hardly breathing.

 

“If you want to arrest me, please detective, do it properly.”

 

He hung up with no warning. He didn’t know how to stop the frantic race of his heart in his chest, he didn’t know how this dull man had guessed the secrets of his heart in half an hour when Neymar hadn't in five years spent by his side.

 

It was a moment later that a voice broke the silence of the room. “I’m sure you’ll find him.”

 

The silhouette loomed in the doorway. She advanced in the student room, the sound of her stilettos tapping on the linoleum before she casually laid down on his bed. Cristiano didn't stop tapping nervously on his phone to look at her.

 

“I’m not so optimistic. But whatever it’s not like I’m worried about him…” He answered and after a few seconds passed he asked, “What are you doing here, Elle? Are we even still together?”

 

Her luscious lips drew into a sad smile as she sat at the edge of his bed. “I hope we are. Listen, about the other girls, I truly don’t care if you have female friends, my jealousy crisis was childish. It’s my entire fault. I want us to be together again.”

 

“Elle…” Cristiano met her gaze and tried to reason her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.

 

“I know you’re worried about my brother, we all are. But I miss you and I know you miss me too.” Rafaella smiled, showing her bright teeth perfectly aligned. A silence settled and the pretty brunette called her brother’s best friend back to Earth, “Cris?”

 

“Do not forget that what we have…”

 

She removed her shoes to slip on the bed beside him, finishing the well-known sentence, “…is our little secret.”

 

_~The first time they make out, Rafaella is fifteen and Cristiano seventeen. They both know Neymar would kill them if he sees it. And it is something dangerous, intriguing, intense and they both enjoy the sensation, leaning against the bathroom door. Rafaella still has mascara trails on her cheeks because her ex is an asshole, and Cristiano’s fists hurt for the same reason. She says stupid things about being in love with her brother’s best friend since she’s eight, about how she’s glad he came to her rescue, about how she wants him to kiss her again and again until she dies of happiness. So, Cristiano_ _smiles because she’s really beautiful and looks a lot like Neymar under this dim light. He could kiss her over and over again. Cristiano loves the fact that Neymar’s sister, the person the Brazilian loves the most on earth, is his; he loves when he touches her because he knows he is touching a bit of Neymar’s skin and he loves her smile because it looks so much like her brother’s. And Elle, well, she simply loves Cris.~_

~*~*~*~

 

 

It wasn’t rare for Neymar to be summoned to his father’s office, but this time he dreaded the meeting, considering all the rumors about him these last days, the picture, the party, the gang settlement, his burned car, Leo missing, the drug cartel. And by the expression painted on his face, he could tell Neymar Senior already knew everything.

 

He voiced the first words that came to his mind while he took a seat, the words that could justify his homosexuality, his addiction. “It was a mistake,” he muttered.

 

His eyes looked successively at the office’s white walls, filled with pictures of a smiling family, a football team, and at the institution’s stone facade with the insignia _Charles Quint College_. On the desk, there was an old picture of his young self in his mother’s arms. Being the son of the student’s president and the worst dunce of the school wasn’t easy, however Neymar had made it his greatest asset. He was in the best fraternity on the campus, had surrounded himself with a popular group of friends and had found a place in the football team as an adulated forward. Yet in the eyes of his father, he had accomplished nothing.

 

“A mistake? Because you think I let you enter in this prestigious university with your shitty results to see you make mistakes?! People like us do not make mistakes, Junior, they are not allowed to!”

 

How many times has he broken his father’s heart? How many times has he heard these words, echoing on the walls. The young student kept his eyes ostensibly directed towards the desk.

 

“LOOK AT ME, JUNIOR!” the president belched and Neymar obeyed, cautiously looking up to meet his stare. He felt something twist in him and he realized it was fear. For the first time since years ago, the young Da Silva Santos was afraid of his namesake. “Look at me,” the old man repeated as anger faded away and sadness appeared in its stead. “I forgave your failures, I forgave your weakness, but I won’t forgive _this_. You buried your future, you’ll never be a great politician, and you’ll never be someone at all. You are dead to me, my son.”  

 

With a flick of his wrist, the student’s president dismissed his son without bothering to say another word. Neymar stood up, pushing back the leather seat, and left the room after bowing once, as an ultimate provocation. It is only when he closed the door behind him that his facade cracked. He felt tears burning his eyes, his throat clogged up. He was suffocating, literally, and his father’s voice continued to haunt him while he went to the Alpha’s home in the pouring rain.

 

 ** _You disappoint me, Junior._** He climbed the stairs at an incredible speed. **_You are not the kid I raised._** He slammed his bedroom’s door. **_You are not worthy of your inheritance._** He hit the wall. **_You’ll never earn someone’s respect._** Again. **_You’ll never be respectable and respected._** And again. **_You’ll never be me._**

 

He slammed his fists into the wall until he could no longer feel any pain. Then he laughed. The sweat that ran from his forehead mingled with blood, and the blood mingled with tears. Once he had started crying, he couldn’t stop anymore.

 

Cristiano suddenly barged into the room, and immediately he circled Neymar with his arms, preventing the Brazilian from hurting himself again. Cris had always had this affection towards his best friend, the tendency to be his shield and his anchor.

 

“Ney calm down! Calm the fuck down!”

 

But Neymar continued to tremble convulsively and his face was wet with tears, contorted with pain. His mouth was wide open whimpering like a wounded animal. Everything he had tried so hard to hide behind his smiles resurfaced gradually like a wave ready to submerge him. Once he had started remembering, he couldn’t stop anymore.

 

“NEY!”

 

Cristiano wanted him to stop. He would have liked to be able to calm him with simple words like he used to. He would have liked to be able to tell him that every time he saw him crying he felt something twist inside him. He would have liked to tell him that seeing him suffer was the worst torture there was. He would have liked to tell him how he felt every time he saw him, every time he thought about him. Every time.

 

But because, he never knew the right words to say, Cristiano kissed him. And Neymar stopped.

 

Mouth against his, firmly pressing the thin body against him as something fragile, Ronaldo told everything. He gave everything. **_I love you. I’ve always been. Fucking. In. Love. With. You._** Too absorbed into their kiss, Cristiano didn't notice that Neymar’s eyes were still wide open and that he wasn’t answering to the kiss. The Brazilian had his hands on his friend’s chest. He was struggling, he was trying to push him away. He finally succeeded and Cristiano opened his eyes and looked at him. There was surprise painted on Neymar’s face, mixed with fear and mostly…disgust. And the beating of his heart sped up as Cris thought that was not the way he had kissed Leo for sure. Nothing was important anymore because Neymar was looking at him as if he had betrayed him and **_fucking fuck_** what had he done?!

 

“I love him,” Neymar muttered in the silent bedroom they shared.

 

There was no need to say his name, because he had always been there, with them, somehow. And hearing those words, Cristiano’s heart was slowly transforming into ice. And because it was the only way to save a heart from shame, love gave way to hatred, an insurmountable hatred.

 

_~The sun is round, the sky is grey and Cristiano’s madly in love with Neymar. But there’s Leo, one more figure in the equation. And Leo loves Neymar too. In the changing room, the athletes are louder than usual and all are gathered around Munir who’s holding his phone, and the captain of the team wonders what can be so important this late in the evening. And he can’t stop thinking about the fact Neymar missed an important training. But then, he sees the picture and it’s Neymar kissing his half-brother and he stops thinking for a while. He almost can't breathe. The whole team is shocked but more than that, Cris is struck by grief. Later when he’s alone in the desert room, he allows himself to violently hit the wall and the pain is horrible, but not as awful as his bleeding heart. And seated, his head in his hands, he forgets the minutes running on the clock… He’s too busy trying to breathe normally. The sun is round, the sky is grey and Cristiano, despite his best efforts, can’t stop loving Neymar. But there’s Leo, one more figure in the equation. And Neymar loves Leo too.~_

~*~*~*~

 

The smell of metal, blood and dirty banknotes had permeated into the abandoned building. And maybe it was not a good idea but the young man, wrapped in a long _Armani_ coat, continued to make his way among the ruins nibbled away by vegetation. Nothing had changed. Between the dirty apartments, he could almost hear Neymar’s voice echoing in a painful memory. The last time he came was some years ago, and Neymar had sworn to him while he mopped his blood that Cristiano would never have to come back in this place again to saving him from The Cannibal and his henchmen. He didn’t know if the Brazilian had even tried to stay away from white powder. He didn’t know if he ever tried to keep his promise, do something for the one he called his best friend.

 

The path leading to where the drug lord sat was a labyrinth of stairs, floors that fitted together in a general chaos. Nothing had changed. Cristiano could still feel fear twisting his stomach like the first time. From the rooftop, the landscape of the city below was a sublime spectacle in the cold night, crawling like a shadow on the walls.

 

A scream interrupted his thoughts. His blood froze in his veins and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. Arda Turan, well-known as The Cannibal due to all the shadowy rumorsaround his character, was there, standing over a young, begging boy, a bat in his hand. Fourteen years old and already destroyed by heroin, Cristiano could guess. There were many specimens of this kind but for an unknown reason, that one looked like Neymar.

 

“Cristiano!” The Cannibal raised his head. His beard was tainted with blood. He smiled. “It’s been a while since I saw you…”

 

Cristiano did not smile back. He had the money, he could get away with anything. “I learned how to stay away from the snakes; it’s bad luck that Neymar didn’t.”

 

A silence fell among the group of men gathered around their boss, but a thunderous laughter echoed eerily and the tension dissipated.

 

“You know I've always preferred you over him, right?! So much more polite, you always paid in times! So I never had to be violent…” The Turkish wasn’t smiling anymore, his eyes were dark and Cristiano drew his attention to the briefcase he was holding.

 

“How much?” The young student asked.

 

“A lot. I've been waiting for months. He didn’t leave me another choice but to make him an example and show that I’m still respected in the business.”

 

“Tell me how much?”

 

The dealer finally said the amount and Cristiano gave everything. There was something familiar in the way The Cannibal’s eyes were shining in the neon lights, and Ronaldo felt a profound disgust and an ounce of respect for that terrific man.

 

“If you’re doing all these things for your brother’s safety, I can assure you that…”

 

Cristiano cut him. “It’s not for my half-brother but for Neymar. For now, stay away from him. Nobody have the right to hurt him, except me.”

 

Behind his back he heard a maniacal laughter, the sound of a gun charging and the cry of a kid who needed help. But after all, he didn't look like Neymar that much. He was going to be beaten to death on a rooftop and no one was going to help. No one was going to come to his rescue.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Along a highway, he was there. All this time he had been there. All this time, he had been safe. And Neymar didn’t know what feelings prevailed – anger or relief. Leo had run away, crisscrossed the city in his car, escaped from his life.

 

“So I finally found you.”

 

“I hoped you’d never come.”

 

“I guess I should have known you were there, all this time.” Neymar had sworn he would not beg but seeing him, seating on the stone wall, his legs suspended into nothing, he couldn't help himself.

 

“Come on Leo, get down.”

 

“What will be the point of obeying you?”

 

The Brazilian hesitated. “Not…to die.”

 

There was a silence, during which all the words seemed to be communicated without even being formed on their lips, before Leo talked again.

 

“Do you think about our kiss sometimes?” Neymar did not have the time to answer. “Because I do. All the time. And I keep thinking about how good it felt… But then, I remember what kind of person you are, who you are. And it disgusts me.”

 

Neymar did not move an inch. He could not breathe.

 

Leo finished. “You should leave.”

 

Words quietly pronounced can break a heart. And watching the scene from afar, two men playing truth or dare at the edge of a bridge, cars speeding past them into the night but not stopping. And maybe Leo was about to jump. And maybe Neymar was about to push him. But nobody cared.

 

Neymar limped to his car parked at the edge of the road. He stood frozen for a moment, rewinding the tape of his life, trying to get all his memories back. How many times the young man had wished to come back to that time of recklessness, to relive the moments of pure joy that had characterized his childhood? How many times had he tried to go back to that date, to repair the original wound? Was there even one thing in his existence that he did not regret?

 

Neymar dialed a number he knew by heart. Maybe it was too late, but he was going to try.

 

“Cris…”

 

“Sorry but I’m too occupied for the moment, leave a message after the ‘BIP’!”

 

Cristiano was indeed occupied, undoing a bra. And if Neymar had known who the owner of that _Victoria’s Secret_ set was, he certainly wouldn't have left a voicemail.

 

“Cris it’s Ney. You’re not answering and I know you refuse to talk to me since…since you kissed me and I told you I love Leo. But you know what? He’s a complete egoistic and stupid asshole and you’re not…”

 

He didn't know anything. He didn't know how Rafaella acted towards his best friend. He didn't know how she moaned against his ear when she arched of desire.

 

“And I’ve been so stupid, Cris, so so stupid. Because I’m only realizing now everything you've done for me. And well, I have to be honest with you, it’s now that Leo rejected me for the umpteenth time that I know nobody ever loved me like you do. And I…”

 

He didn't know what was happening in the bedroom, on the king-sized bed he had been lied on so many times. He didn't know how Cris acted with his sister. He didn't know the lies he muttered into her ear while she screamed of pleasure.

 

“…I can’t assure you the feeling is mutual but I do love you…I know that because I’m lost without you.”

 

He started the car under the pouring rain, taking the direction of the Ronaldo’s house. And for a moment, he didn’t feel any pain. For a moment, everything made sense. If only he did not have to look at the soaked young man in his rearview mirror.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...Can you guess what is going to happen next? Can you feel the drama coming? Are you ready to know who's the person who published the photo is?  
> Feel free to leave a comment, it's always a pleasure :*


	4. Fix things with lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~When he was something like six, Neymar fell of a tree. He remembered how it cut his breath during horribly endless seconds, how his father forbade him from crying because it was for girls, how he gritted his teeth to prevent himself from screaming out of pain. That was exactly how he felt at that exact moment. Ready to let his rage burst – it had been sleeping inside him for so much time now. Like a silent volcano, threatening to erupt at any time.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's so good to write again. Sorry for the past months...  
> Hope you will like this chapter as much as I do!

 

“I have nowhere to go. Can I stay here? Please.”

 

 

Nobody has the cruelty to reject someone soaked in rain, waiting in the dim light of a porch in an April night. And Leo looked miserable with his large glazed eyes, staring off into nothing, and Jordi Alba was caught off guard. Leo Cuccitini Ronaldo had a house – a stone mansion with a private stretch of beach. He had a best – and only – friend, because Gerard was enough for him. He belonged to a fraternity of rich intellectual music lovers on campus. And yet he was there, in front of Jordi’s house in a godforsaken neighborhood in the south of the town. Jordi had never been ashamed of his origins and of being a grant holder until the tiny genius knocked on his door, but he wasn’t going to waste this chance. Leo wanted to stay at his place. Leo wanted to be with him. Leo wanted him.

 

 

“Sure, you can stay as long as you want to.”

 

 

And just like that, Leo could shower for the first time in days. He could feel the warm water rolling down his sweaty body, brushing his hair, caressing his scars. His eyes were half closed, his hands reaching for the soap, when he caught sight of a flash in the bathroom. Jordi hastily retrieved his hand from the doorknob, cursing under his breath, but it was too late. And the phone hit the floor with a thud.

 

 

“What the fuck?” More than shock, Leo felt a wave of anger surging in him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

 

 

“I’m sorry. So--sorry…”

 

 

“You were filming me showering. You were-”

 

 

Then it hit him.

 

 

Now, Leo could remember Jordi’s behavior, each of his acts, each of his words. Now, Leo could see the obsession had always been there, hidden inside the drummer. He could remember Jordi’s impulsive actions towards him, the way he repeated that the youngest Ronaldo was talented, seeking his friendship by invading his personal space. But more than the talented flutist, Jordi was obsessed with the football team, rejected from the squad because of his poor skills in defense according to the coach, he had grown a particular hatred towards all the players, except Neymar. But everyone loved the team’s number 11. Slowly he put all the pieces together in his mind. Now, he could remember how Jordi had insisted on doing their science project at the Ronaldo’s manor, how eager he had been when Leo said his brother was going to have a party and there was going to be too much noise to work properly, how his eyes had been shining when Leo came back to the room, his lips still burning from Neymar’s kiss, how he had asked “are you okay?”, how widely he had smiled when Leo apologized saying he was too tired to work anymore. And all the other weird things Jordi did.

 

 

“You’re so fucking twisted,” Leo said, breathless, motionless.

 

 

And Jordi tried to talk, “Please, Leo…Let me—let me explain…”

 

 

But Leo didn’t let him finish his sentence before spitting, “You are the one who published the photo, threatened Neymar and now you’re…You were filming me while I took a bath, you’re a fucking psycho!”

 

 

“Leo-”

 

 

“Don’t—don’t come near me!”

 

 

Jordi Alba had always been considered as an over affective smiling young student obsessed with the rhythm of the drums and college’s football stars. And he was not _mean_ , a little bit strange at maybe, but Leo always thought it had to do with the fact he had had the bad luck of crossing Isco’s path and let the popular footballer abuse and mock him, pretending to be okay with that. And there had always been those small hints that something was wrong with him but Leo never could have tell until that moment what it was.

 

 

Now Leo was trembling – not because of the drops streaming down his naked body, but because of Jodi’s burning gaze on him, watching things he should not have ever watched. It felt like being dissected alive, feeling the knife pierce each skin layer and the blade dig deep within him. And Leo wondered how many times his privacy had been violated in the past. When he broke the fragile silence again, his voice was no louder than a whisper.

 

 

“ **So fucking twisted**.”

 

 

~*Thirty miles away*~

 

If someone asked Cristiano how he knew that Neymar would run back to him, maybe they’d have an answer. He would say that it was like those documentaries he’d seen of penguins able to recognize their offspring by nothing but the sound of their feet on the ice floe (Neymar was limping). He wouldn’t say that his heart –his poor broken heart – could guess the silhouette behind the closed doors. He wouldn’t say that he had had a few seconds of hesitation, with Rafaela straightening above him, her legs pressed against his waist. If someone asked Cristiano why he hadn’t pushed her away, hidden her under the blankets like the dirty secret she was, he’d say with that confident smile of his that it was better that way. That the blood flooding from his nose, tinting the immaculate sheets, the mascara trails on flushed cheeks, the cries and the chaos was worth the face Neymar made when he entered the room and saw his former best friend and his sister fucking.

 

 

“WHAT THE FUCK?! What the actual fuck?!”

 

 

Rafaela was frozen on spot. She talked first, not that Cristiano wanted to.

 

 

“Please, Ney let me—let me explain…This is…”

 

 

She was shivering now, and Neymar realized how old she looked like that, sweating in the dampness of the room, her eyeliner rolling down her cheeks and her lips wet with saliva. She almost looked like an adult, except if Neymar wasn’t an adult then she couldn’t be one either.

 

 

His anger made him scream and hit the wall. Violently.

 

 

“Don’t say it’s not what I think it is! _Damn_ , you’re naked, both of you!” He was on the verge of nausea and Cristiano didn’t even have the decency to cover his naked body – his tense, sweaty, perfectly shaped body. He tried to look anywhere but at the couple still tangled in the white sheets, but his eyes traveled from his sister to his best friend. “I can’t even look at you in the eyes… And you—you FUCKING LIAR!”

 

 

In the heat of the moment, Cristiano made a muffled sound, like a gasp, or a laugh.

 

 

Neymar hit first.

 

 

Rafaela separated them, and Neymar realized how she looked at Cristiano like he was some kind of god. Like all the girls always looked at Cristiano. Like Neymar sometimes looked at him. She started crying, ugly whimpers making her heavy breasts tremble.

 

 

“Don’t hurt him! Please, Ney, don’t hurt him!” As her brother tried to catch his breath, trying to appease the violent thud of his heart in his ribcage, she continued, “I love him! It’s me, Ney, I’ve always loved him and I wanted him…like that.”

 

 

“You’re disgusting,” he finally said before leaving.

 

 

He knew Rafaela better than he knew himself and he knew she was telling him the truth. She was not fooling around, she was in love. Neymar remembered falling as well.

_~ Her name’s Molly and she’s beautiful. Cris doesn’t like her. He’s distrustful, guessing she’ll break Neymar. He’s worried – more than that he’s scared by her. Her name’s Molly and soon, they’re inseparable. His mother starts asking about her, worries about her son, but Molly remains a secret. He knows his parents won’t approve of her, even if she’s the one who helps him get better. Her name’s Molly and she’s everything. He’ll forget Leo and the guilt torturing him sooner or later thanks to her. She cleans his mind, soothes his anger. She’s the only one who acknowledge his pain, the only one who legitimates his inexplicable grief. He met Molly thanks to a new friend, a certain Arda Turan. He seems really nice, treats Neymar well and asks “How do you feel?” So Ney answers “Perfectly well.” They call her ecstasy, Neymar prefers to call her Molly.~_

~*~*~*~

 

 

They didn’t talk after that. Cristiano moved out of their shared room and went to sleep with Isco. Cristiano moved out of his life in a rush, dragging four _Louis_ _Vuitton_ baggage with him. And Neymar stayed in the empty room, feeling like someone had dug a hole in his life with his best friend missing. He felt it in the long stares he received in the school’s hallways, he felt it in the lonely lunches he spent in his room, and the multiplications of homophobic slurs he found every morning on his locker door. When Cristiano turned away from him it was like a sudden realization hit the whole college about the Brazilian’s mediocrity for being attracted to another guy, the tiny flutist who was considered autistic by the majority of the students. When Cristiano disappeared, it was like Neymar was left with a constant eclipse, deprived from the sunshine. And at first it was great to be alone because there was so much anger in Neymar; he didn’t know if he could bear seeing Cris on a daily basis.

 

 

But soon, it wasn’t okay anymore. He needed something to fulfill the hole. He needed to play football again.

 

 

“I’m recovering way faster than the doctors thought I would, I want to start to attend to football trainings again and maybe I could play in three weeks?” He said to the coach one day as he was passing by the field, his head full of memories linked to the sport.

 

 

The coach raised an eyebrow, his gaze still focused on the notebook he was reading before Neymar came to him. His low voice muttered under his breath:

 

 

“Well, you should have thought of it before coming out on the school site.”

 

 

“What?” Neymar thought he might have heard the old man badly, at least he wished so. “What does it have to do with football?!”

 

 

Finally, the coach met his eyes, sighing loudly. “Junior you have to understand that our supporters are not the kind to wave rainbow flags during matches or go to the gay pride for your lovely eyes. Some of our sponsors didn’t appreciate the joke and many don’t want to see you on the field again.”

 

 

At first, the Brazilian was frozen on spot. “That’s… homophobia. That’s punished by law!”

 

 

“Go tell your papa, then! I don’t really give a damn about your middle age crisis, kid. You have a true talent, you wasted it. Too bad footie is the only thing you’re actually good at.”

 

 

When he was something like six, Neymar fell of a tree. He remembered how it cut his breath during horribly endless seconds, how his father forbade him from crying because it was for girls, how he gritted his teeth to prevent himself from screaming out of pain. That was exactly how he felt at that exact moment. Ready to let his rage burst – it had been sleeping inside him for so much time now. Like a silent volcano, threatening to erupt at any time.

 

 

The voice of the old man interrupted his thoughts, “Now leave my field, Junior, we have upcoming matches and you won’t even be on the bench.”

 

 

He saw a few of his former teammates pass before him without bothering to lay eyes on him. He called after two of them when Isco and Marc exited the locker room, discussing something that looked as serious as comparing their girlfriends’ boobs, judging by the smile that had formed on Bartra’s mouth. It disappeared as soon as he saw Neymar, and his green eyes found their way to anything but Neymar’s hazel ones.

 

 

“So you’re ignoring me too, now?” the Brazilian asked.

 

 

Isco almost startled. He turned to who was supposed to be one of his best friend with a deliberate frown, as if Neymar had interrupted something important. “You know why. Nobody wants to interfere in your fight.”

 

 

That was bullshit. And Neymar wanted to rip that neutral expression off the midfielder’s face and spit on his shinny boots.

 

 

“That’s bullshit; you guys always interfere! You don’t even know the story, you’re just making up excuses because suddenly kissing another boy is not okay because Cris decided so! That’s how it is, right?!”

 

 

“Yeah, that’s how it is,” Isco simply said with his abrupt honesty. “There’s only one king in this school and he’s also our team captain; now is not the time to start a fucking riot.”

Neymar looked at Marc, waiting for the brunette to defend him but he remained quiet. Marc was such a coward, Neymar thought as realization suddenly hit him, and Isco was an arrogant bitch, and Cris was a whore. The worse was that he wished he never came to such a conclusion about his circle of friends.

 

 

“I guess that when we said we won’t let each other fall, it was excluding the gay friend.”

Neither of them answered. They walked away and it was not really surprising. Neymar watched them from afar, running around the field, kicking the ball and joking with each other while the coach was screaming at them to focus from the sideline, though there was a half smile on his face. It started to rain. Neymar didn’t notice. Neither did them.

_~Pai is always right. Pai says Neymar should befriend the neighbor’s son. And then, he says the little boy is strange. Pai says Neymar should stay with the other one, the one who looks actually sane. He says mean things about Leo and his mother being a psycho, things that Neymar doesn’t understand but that anger his_ _mãe_. _Pai says he wants the best for his little Junior’s future and that Mr. Ronaldo is the sign of a brighter future. Pai says everything he wants and Neymar obeys. Always. Pai says Cristiano should teach Neymar more of his skills, not only in football but also in school, and that makes Neymar laugh. At first. Then, mãe asks about Leo and Neymar looks at pai searching for an appropriate lie. Then, Leo’s mom dies. Then, pai starts to ask too much and Neymar doesn’t obey anymore. Then, pai starts to not like Cristiano because he seems to be a ‘bad influence’. Now, pai associates always the same words to his colleague’s sons: “freak” for one and “faggot” for the other. Pai is always right._ _~_

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

 

“You’re alive.” Neymar said, lifting his head from the book he was reading and Leo smiled.

 

 

He actually smiled with a shy yet genuine expression, tilting his head to one side, letting his long hair brush his shoulder and his dark eyes sparkled with something he didn’t remember seeing in Leo’s eyes past his adolescence. Except when he was with Gerard, perhaps.

 

 

“Looks like it.”

 

 

The smile disappeared as quickly as it appeared. And **_no_** Leo shouldn’t ever stop smiling; when he didn’t, he seemed so sad. It reminded Neymar of the little lonely boy sitting in the front row of the broad cathedral, surrounded by cries, watching his mother’s corpse with dried eyes.

 

 

“Did you find what you were searching for?” Neymar asked suddenly, almost too loud in the deserted library.

 

 

“Kind of. I left for a reason and came back for another.”

 

 

Neymar wasn’t going to guess this enigma, he wasn’t going to try to read between the lines. Not anymore. He was fully aware now that Leo was the kind of unresolvable puzzle a fool like him wasn’t ever going to decipher. He didn’t forget the last words Cristiano’s half-brother had said to him. **_You should leave._** Why were they still hurting so badly when he heard worst in the past days at college? Why did they matter so much more than insults?

 

 

“I came back because I found who published the photo, who was spying on us and destroyed everything with a blow-”

 

 

“I don’t want to know,” Neymar interrupted his ramble and Leo, still standing in front of Neymar’s table, turned as pale as a ghost.

 

 

“You don’t?” He asked with incredulity.

 

 

“Listen, Leo, it’s too late to prevent the photo from being published, you know who it is but then what?! It’s too late and I’d love to say it is all your fault but it is clearly mine. I never should’ve kissed you in the first place.”

 

 

He started reading again. He was not sure when Leo finally left.

 

 

In the Alphas house, the atmosphere was suffocating. He came back that night, knocking at the door of his parent’s huge house in the upscale suburb of the town. When his mother opened the door and found him on the doorstep, she immediately knew he needed a hug more than anything. Eyes firmly closed not to let any tears escape, the young man muttered his question, his voice muffled in his mother’s dressing gown, “Please, can I come back home?”

 

 

He wished it would be better and it was somehow worse to be home. Because when he was trying so hard to get rid of the souvenir of Cristiano and tjheir friendship, there were photos of them hung on every walls, like Cristiano’s spirit lived there more than Neymar ever did. Like the perfect eldest child, he was.

 

 

Also, there was Rafaela. And with each meeting came another confrontation.

 

 

“Where’s Cris?”

 

 

“Somewhere I’m not, obviously.”

 

 

“You mean enjoying himself somewhere without you?!”

 

 

“Ney, you really need to get your shits together! Why can’t you be happy for us?!”

 

 

“Because it’s clear he’s manipulating you, he doesn’t care about you, he doesn’t even like you!”

 

 

“He loves me!” She said and she seemed so persuaded of that, it actually saddened Neymar.

 

 

He replied vehemently, “NO, it’s just bullshit! Cris… Cris is gay! And he can’t love you because he’s in love with me.”

 

 

He didn’t intend to. Really, he didn’t. But once he saw Rafaela’s face, Neymar actually wished he had voiced the truth sooner because Cristiano was playing with his sister’s heart and nobody had the right to.

 

 

“Wha—”

 

 

“Remember his obsession for me? His mad jealousy for my girlfriends, his tendency to make my homeworks and pay my caution the time I ended in prison for my…issues. Remember when he beat the shit out of Orlando for his racist slang and threatened to end his life? And when he refused you the last hot dog at the annual barbecue when we were twelve because I wanted another?”

 

 

“It’s just-”

 

 

“Friendship?” The silence hung between them for what seemed to be hours before Neymar said, “He kissed me, Rafa. He kissed me on the mouth.”

 

 

He threw his fist in _his_ face with full force, again and again. The photography fell from the wall and the broken frame hit the ground with a thud. Neymar’s hands were bloody, but his father still had a winning smile splitting is face in two. Too focused on the sight, he didn’t hear his mother’s footsteps behind him, at first. When he finally acknowledged her presence it was too late to pretend it was an accident and she looked horrified looking at their destroyed family portrait.

 

 

“I’m worried about you, Neymar. You look like you’re struggling with your old demons. And I know it’s not just about the recent incidents, things that happened in your life. I know it’s deeper than that…Is it –is it about your father?” Her voice was shaking. Neymar always wondered how she could have married a monster. He found it almost comical how she was the only one who didn’t seemed to be aware of her husband’s true nature, blinded by love.

 

 

“It’s always been about him, anyway. All he ever showed me was hatred, and if I had never witnessed his attitude towards Rafa, I’d have thought it was because he was unable to love anyone besides you…” Before she even tried to interrupt him, he added, “Please don’t say he loves me. Don’t lie.”

 

 

He went back to his bedroom but didn’t miss the pain written all over his mother’s face when she knelt to clean the mess, gathering the fragments like she was picking pieces of life and trying desperately to put them back together.

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

The art of playing chess was something Neymar had always considered out of his reach. It wasn’t like the football he played instinctively, it needed patience and intellect. That was maybe why Neymar had never won – because he was dumb and impulsive. Chess was funnier when you didn’t have a clear mind, though. Neymar wasn’t high. He was fine, his chin resting on the chessboard, moving the pieces without really thinking about it. He was surprised when he heard someone stop near him.

 

 

“You look like a mess,” Leo said.

 

 

“Thanks.”

 

 

“Are you on drugs?”

 

 

“Leave me alone!” He was irritated now, Leo was such a pain in the ass, pushing him away and then acting like he cared.

 

 

“I will, it’s just that you look really bad and even if you seem cool with it, it’s scary.”

 

 

He sounded almost sincere and Neymar probably would have believe those words if they hadn't come from Leo’s mouth.

 

 

“Bullshit. You don’t care about anyone besides yourself! Leo and your whole lot of problems, as if your mother’s death allowed you to be mean, you’re so much more important than the common man for that, or at least that’s what you think…But do you know Leo what it feels like to be cold? Like really cold, all the time. To be attached to something against your will. No I didn’t ask for it. Nobody wants to be the slave of madness. No one wants to be cold. I never called for help, and do you know why? Because of shame. Because there will always be people like you saying that I asked for it, that I deserve to be cold now.”

 

 

Now Leo was looking at him, neither with the disgust he usually disguised nor with the cold dark gaze, he was looking at him just like he did when he was eight. Not with pity, but with adoration.

 

 

“No one wants to be cold.” Neymar repeated, lower. When Leo looked at him like that, he didn’t regret kissing him. And that was what was scaring him the most.

 

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

 

Neymar wanted to ask why. He didn’t.

 

 

“I’m sorry,” Leo repeated, as if he was searching for some kind of absolution. He sat down in front of Neymar, pushing every single pieces in front of Neymar’s ones, allowing the Brazilian to devour them all and win this battle over him. They stayed quiet after that, in a strange mixture of peace and chaos.

 

 

Neymar remembered falling in love with Leo slowly, like a sun burn, discovered too late when it already hurt and making a permanent mark for the rest of the summer. Though, he wasn’t the first boy the Brazilian kissed. Cristiano was.

 

 

_~They are something like twelve when they roll on the ground, tangling with each other, Ney’s laugh echoing in Cris’ ear. Their clothes tinted by the grass and their smile threatening to tear their sun-bathed face apart. The burning sun is high in the sky, blinding them so they can’t see the silhouette of the householder observing them through the curtains, madly spying them at the window of the house. “Stop,” Neymar says, panting. But Cris doesn’t obey. They are something like twelve and so desperate to win over the other sweaty body. They are gripping each other’s shirts, fighting but not really, laughing too loud to be taken seriously. “Stop,” Neymar repeats and Cris doesn’t know what to do. Because Neymar is beneath him, lying on the grass with laughing eyes and harsh breaths. And he realizes how beautiful his best friend looks. “Tell me Ney, have you ever kissed a girl?” He asks softly and the answer sounds like a “No.” “Do you want me to teach you?” They are in their own world, and they can’t see the burning gaze following their moves. They’re both drowning in each other’s eyes, only trying to catch their breaths before Neymar mutters, “yeah.”~_

The Brazilian knew it was a trap when he entered the empty locker room and found Cristiano trying his laces, whistling his favorite song. The headmaster’s son didn’t look up at his former friend, even when the door closed behind him loudly.

 

 

“I should have guessed you’d come back to me once you got rejected. That’s a thing you have in you, you’re the dependent type. And with me, it’s like with drugs, you can’t help coming back. You always do.”

 

 

Neymar frowned. “You’re the one who texted me, today…”

 

 

“I was worried about you, it’s called love.”

 

 

For a moment, Neymar was taken aback, trying to guess if there was an ounce of sincerity in what Cristiano said. He decided there wasn’t.

 

 

“ _Please_ , you’re fucking my sister!” Neymar almost screamed, even if he hadn’t seen the two together those past days.

 

 

Cristiano answered, “You said it best, I fuck her. If I could I’d make love to you.”

 

 

And the young man facing him felt something upset his stomach.

 

 

“I’m trying really hard not to hit you right now.”

 

 

“Great.” Cristiano’s lips drew a devious smile. “We will see which one of us would make the more damage when I hit back.”

 

 

So that was why he was here, to be beaten without people seeing it?! Neymar only realized now how mad the football captain looked – eyebrows furrowed, eyes dark, jaw tense, like he was ready to kill someone, even if this someone was Neymar.

 

 

He continued, “You see, Ney, I’ve been too indulgent with you and I tried to save you, but you’re a lost case. It’s not really about Rafaela, is it?! It’s about you suddenly wanting to be with me after being rejected. It’s about you using me over and over again…”

 

 

“That’s not right! I’ve never—“ Neymar didn’t have the time to say before he was pressed against the cold wall, Cristiano’s hand on his throat, not pressing yet on his quick pulse.

 

 

“Shitty liar. Don’t play the innocent ’cause I know what you’ve done. You fucked me up so bad in the past I had to get you out of my mind at any price. You did that, Ney. All by yourself, by rejecting me after everything I gave you, everything I did for you. And then, you run back to me to destroy the last piece of me left. And today, you fucked me up again.”

 

 

Neymar felt like life was spilling through his fingers, his whole existence was so messed up. He lost everything he needed in this world, his friends, his sister’s support, his sanity. He felt so self-conscious of his dependence now. He needed people to look at him. He needed to be the life of the party eternally, it was the only thing he had. But now that Cristiano was red with madness, he wasn’t sure how to get his former life back. He wasn’t even sure he understood the reason of Cris’ sudden anger.

 

 

The football captain continued, “I loved you and you were everything, Ney. I did everything and I can’t count the amount of times I saved your poor ass. But now, it’s fucking over after what you’ve done… There’s millions of debts you didn’t repay, but you will, _Ney_ , because I am going to fucking **destroy** you. Do you understand now?! There’s no love anymore; only hatred.”

 

 

What did he mean? What the hell was going on? The Brazilian watched the door slam behind him and allowed his heart to beat again. What had he done?

 

 

He remained seated on the cold tiles for a long time before reaching for his phone in his pocket. Without thinking, he opened the school website for the first time since the picture of the kiss came out and discovered that the main topic wasn’t the second year pink haired student’s new haircut nor the sociology’s professor pregnancy, but Cristiano. There were questions about his sexuality everywhere. Comments about the way he acts, photos with the football team, photos with Neymar. Mockeries but also a lot of concerns that the college’s king had been contaminated by his gay ex-best friend. Neymar couldn’t believe this was happening the day before the match, the coach was probably fuming. He scrolled past his dashboard frantically, searching for the person who ignited the fire.

 

 

It started with a message. It was written by his sister.

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

_~The dogs are pursuing him, eager to tear his flesh apart, rip his clothes and his last chance to survive from this massacre is to run. So he runs. And runs again. He can’t get caught, they’ll ruin him. He can’t get caught, not now. He turns around corner, unstable on the wet tiles of the restroom. There he starts to empty his pockets in the dirty water; he sees white powder and pills disappearing in a whirlpool, his money getting wasted in pee and he feels sick. The dogs aren’t far behind, they’re going to catch him. When the stranger’s cold hands circle his wrist, his vision becomes blurry and he hears the words against his ear. “You are under arrest for drug possession, you have the right to remain silent.” It feels like the dogs are nibbling his calves. He can hear the students’ crowd barking. Neymar’s only seventeen. Before he’ll be forced to sit at the back of the policeman’s car, he looks at the faces in the crowd. Cristiano is nowhere to be seen but there’s always the menacing silhouette looking after him with a piercing gaze. Like a ghost haunting the place. It’s his dad. ~_

 

 

It was way past midnight when he called.

 

 

“Leo? You said you knew who published the photo, right?!”

 

 

Neymar now knew the desire for revenge was stronger than any feeling of guilt that could surge inside him later. When you’re hurt, you need to hurt other people as well. Just like Leo did. Just like Cris did. And now, Neymar was consumed by an endless desire to make someone pay, to make someone bleed for his own mistakes.

****

 

“Good. Let’s destroy that motherfucker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be the last before the epilogue and there's so much drama to come...   
> Please, leave a comment if you liked this chapter :) I'll try to post the last chapter soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Everything will be worse. Everything will be darker.  
> Don't forget to leave your opinion, and kudos if you want!:)


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